


Jingle Holmes

by traumschwinge, YamiPanther



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: John is not gay this time either, M/M, Moriarty Shipping Johnlock, Silly, Song Parody, Texting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-03
Updated: 2013-12-03
Packaged: 2018-01-03 09:04:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1068635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/traumschwinge/pseuds/traumschwinge, https://archiveofourown.org/users/YamiPanther/pseuds/YamiPanther
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John receives weird texts on his way home from work. Of course that makes him pissed. He just wished he knew who he was pissed at.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jingle Holmes

**Author's Note:**

> traumschwinge: I so have no idea about this. It started with "I just sung And product in his hair to the tune of Jingle Bells" and then suddenly, we had the whole text and we decided to write the fic to go with it. Maybe we shouldn't be left unsupervised.

_Running from Chinese_

_And Taxi drivers old._

_While sharing the same flat_

_Just because it's cheap._

 

John could all but stare at his mobile. “What the bloody hell?” he murmured. He couldn't recognize the number that texted him this... he supposed it to be a manhandled Christmas carol of sorts, but those lyrics, really? Who would even take his time to write something as stupid as that.

He was about to hit delete, when his mobile chimed again. The same number, of course, who else. John just wished he knew them so he could block the number or, better, hit them in the face the next time he saw them. But out of a very masochistic kind of curiosity—the one had came to know well upon living with Sherlock—he hit open rather than instantly deleting it.

 

_Moriarty’s bad_

_He wants to play with them_

_That's why he visits pools with bombs_

_And makes Sher wanna cry._

 

He regretted the decision immediately upon reading the text. Seriously, was this Sherlock messing with him again? Then again, this wasn't his flat mate's style. Maybe Lestrade seeking revenge. On the other hand, he couldn't imagine him calling Sherlock Holmes “ _Sher_ ” like the author of this weird texts had. So, who else could it be? The answer was obvious enough from the texts that he didn't need Sherlock to point it out. And like hell would he show said consulting detective the texts.

He hadn't even had to wait, because just when he was wondering how the carol would continue, his mobile chirped yet again.

 

_Oh!_

_Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock Holmes,_

_Sherlock Holmes is here_

_He puts eyes in microwaves_

_and product in his hair._

 

Product in his hair, seriously, what had he done to make those two think he's daft? This was getting far too obvious. He would have liked to write back something on the lines of “Shove the rest down your throat, Jim” but he didn't. He wasn't a hundred percent sure that this wasn't Sherlock messing with him, imitating the criminal's style, just to see how John might react. His friend had done much worse in the name of experimenting after all. And, thank goodness, if he recalled the carol right, there was only one more refrain to go.

John was almost home, when his mobile announced the arrival of the much dreaded last bit of the horrible former Christmas carol. He would never be able to sing that song with a straight face in his life ever again. Okay, maybe he would, but only because he was very good at dead-panning.

It took him a moment in which he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, before he could open the message and scan over the last bit. If possible, this was even worse than the rest.

 

_Oh!_

_John is hot, John is hot,_

_And not really gay._

_But if Sherlock came out now,_

_I'd be okay-ey!_

 

Why the bloody hell did everyone assume Sherlock was gay? That was stupid. He lived with the man. Sherlock had never shown any interest in anyone, no matter what gender. He could be as well be straight for all John knew. Or crushing on lamps. Skulls. Adore microbes. Whatever. All just as likely as Sherlock being gay.

And no, John wasn't denying things because he was object of a gay crush, thank you very much.

Not that John would have minded. He just didn't care and it annoyed him that apparently everybody else cared. It wasn't like he went out holding hands with Sherlock or, god forbid, shoved his tongue down the detective's throat. So why did everyone treat them like not-so closeted gays? Couldn't two bachelors share a flat to split the enormous London rent without making the whole world assume that they were fucking. Jesus Christ on a cracker, they even had their own bedrooms. Each. In case there was anyone who didn't get this the first time.

A little pissed and very much inclined to make Sherlock notice that without yelling it in his face, John climbed the stairs to their flat. He wasn't yet entirely convinced that Sherlock didn't have anything to do with this, so he would keep his mouth shut about the texts. Just to see what would happen. It could be Sherlock's version of a coming out speech. It would be weird and very much not like him, but then again, what did John know. He wasn't the consulting detective, was he?

The flat was oddly quiet when John opened the door to their living room. And oddly neat as well. It almost looked like Sherlock hadn't spent all day there and someone had taken it upon themselves to clean. Which just might have been John the evening before. But usually, his merits didn't pay off that long.

“Sherlock?” John called. “Are you there?”

“Bedroom,” was the muffled answer he got. John closed his eyes and prayed to whatever patron saint would feel obliged to listen, before he walked over to the door of Sherlock's room and knocked.

“Are you decent?” John couldn't help but ask.

“Why of course I'm decent,” Sherlock answered just as John carefully pushed the door open. “I'm even wearing my clothes.”

John found his friend lying atop his bed, book in hand and looking at the ceiling with an impression on his face that only could be described as contemplating. “Have you spent the entire day like this?” John asked. He couldn't help but sounding accusing.

“I ate,” Sherlock replied. He didn't even move except for the rise and fall of his chest and occasional bating of eyelids. “By the way, I think we're out of milk.”

John shot him a long look. It wasn't like Sherlock was incapable of grocery shopping, it just so happened that he never did. And on days like this, it drove John slightly mad.

That was why he turned on his heels and went to the kitchen, keeping himself busy and therefore unable to think of ways to murder Sherlock for being who he was. It wasn't like John hadn't been warned. So it was all his own fault. That was what he told himself as he went through the cabinets and the fridge, looking what else was missing because he didn't plan on getting something else the next day.

Opening the fridge made him pause. What was Sherlock's mobile doing in there. Bloody hell. John would have called and asked, if he still cared. Must be another experiment. Or he forgot, because mobiles weren't important, just like the solar system.

John weighted this opportunity against the odds of being either caught or ending up with nothing from it because he knew Sherlock's number after all—or at least his mobile knew and would have told him. So he didn't touch the mobile and just finished his groceries list. By now, he was convinced that it was Moriarty fucking with him. Why, oh why had he let himself get dragged into this, John wondered, even though he knew. It just felt healthy to ask every now and then.

Done with his list, John went back to Sherlock, who, of course, hadn't even stirred in the meantime. Sometimes, John really didn't get what was going on with him. “I'm going to fetch groceries,” John announced. “Is there anything aside from milk that I can get you?”

“No, I'm fine,” Sherlock said, raising the book and hiding his face inside.

John rolled his eyes. He's had enough today. That was it. If those texts were another weird experiment of Sherlock's, then be it. "Oh, by the way,” John sighed, halfway out the door. “Your intellectual crush thinks we're dating, so could you please tell him that he doesn't have to be jealous and to leave me the bloody hell alone? Just if you don't mind." He didn't wait for Sherlock's answer and instead slammed the door shut. It made him feel slightly better.

* * *

_You made John feel upset. SH_

 

_So I didn't succeed in making you come out to him? What a shame. JM_

 

_I expect an apology. SH_

 

_Sorry. JM_

 

_To him, not me. SH_

 

_Even he has to admit that the carol was good. JM_

**Author's Note:**

> The carol in full length: (sung to the melody of Jingle Bells)
> 
> Running from Chinese  
> And Taxi drivers old  
> While sharing the same flat  
> Just because it's cheap.
> 
> Moriarty’s bad  
> He wants to play with them  
> That's why he visits pools with bombs  
> And makes Sher wanna cry.
> 
> Oh!
> 
> Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock Holmes,  
> Sherlock Holmes is here  
> He puts eyes in microwaves  
> and product in his hair.
> 
> Oh!
> 
> John is hot, John is hot,  
> And not really gay.  
> But if Sherlock came out now,  
> I'd be okay-ey!


End file.
